


Stirring of Birds

by witheredsong



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Homecoming, M/M, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3908566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witheredsong/pseuds/witheredsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>but i should rather than anything have<br/>(almost when hugeness will shut quietly) almost<br/>your kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stirring of Birds

It gets late. Mo wanted to have a drink, catch up, and Buster got swept up in it all, because Bum wouldn’t take no for an answer. Mo had asked Tim too, if he wanted to come, but Tim had a Skype call with Chris and declined, making an exaggerated pouty face, which made Mo put him in a headlock.

So it is late when he returns. The apartment is dark, lights switched off, the french windows to the terrace open. Buster pads on silent feet towards where he can see Tim standing, looking out at the lights of the bay. He is holding himself stiffly, fingers curled on the rails, white knuckled, breathing measured, the way he does when he is too angry, needs to calm himself. Buster has been on the receiving end of that terrible quiet anger only twice, and he felt devastated each time it happened, because Tim keeps his sadnesses to himself, and it takes a lot, a lot to make him lash out at people he loves.

Chris somehow has a talent for provoking Tim though, making him feel inadequate, question his own decisions. And Tim spoke to his father, and he was alone in this dark apartment, while Buster was out with friends. A terrible tenderness, almost like grief, wells in Buster. Tim can bring it out in him without a word, with just the pain and stubborn pride in his eyes, and Buster feels scraped raw, that he can ache for Tim so much, even after almost four years together, wants to be the barrier between Tim and the world, knowing all the while Tim wouldn’t stand for it, that Tim fights his own dragons.

He walks up to Tim, and folds his arms around him, pulls him to his chest. Tim is stiff for a moment or two, and then settles against Buster, leaning all his weight on him. Buster kisses his temple, runs his hands through his hair, soft.

After a minute, he asks, hushed, “Hey, how are you feeling?”. Tim is breathing against him in the darkness, and Buster is rocking them back and forth, a quiet rhythm. Tim slides his hands up Buster’s shoulders, warm on his nape, and sighs against his mouth, “Better, now that I am home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing. I stopped writing four years ago, and today suddenly had the urge to write again - the scene came to me almost like a dream. I don't know either of them except what googling will tell me, but there are awe-inspiring authors in this fandom (I am looking at you sophiahelix), and sometimes, just reading something thoughtful and lovely will melt the ice. It feels like I've cautiously drawn a breath after millions of moments underwater.


End file.
